


Memories Erased Means More To Make

by Naii (kahnai)



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Apex Games, Attempted Murder, Gen, Hammond Robotics Is Important Here, I feel like this is a prerequisite cause Revenant, I'm Sorry, Interviews, Kings Canyon (Apex Legends), Loba may or may not be the antagonist here, Memory Loss, Mirage | Elliott Witt Being an Idiot, Murder, News Media, Not Really Character Death, Out of Character, Paparazzi, Slightly - Freeform, Very very out of character, World's Edge (Apex Legends), You can yell at me for being uncreative with rev's human name bc fair, but he's just so plain, cmon, history repeats itself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:41:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24036028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kahnai/pseuds/Naii
Summary: Loba succeeds in killing Revenant. Three hundred years of a personality, festering and rotting into the simulacrum known as Revenant in the Apex Games, gone. It only took a single bullet.Unfortunately, she underestimates Hammond Robotics and their paranoia. Their value of this project. Every simulacrum body was pre-installed with a base memory, all from the same volunteer.Too bad it still thinks it’s human.(and when it figures out the truth, guess what it wants to do?)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 65





	1. Before The Change

**Author's Note:**

> For clarification - Normal text is in the Games ; Italics is what Loba is experiencing

Revenant ducks behind a wall as bullets trail him, the Hunter trying their best to snipe him with an R-301. He gives them credit, though. He’s at 2/3rds health, his shield cracked by the sniper on the team—a newbie with so little technical skill Revenant laughed every shot they missed. They only hit him when he had to slow to apply shields.

Mirage sighs, peeking out to look at the team currently claiming the high ground, only to duck back quickly as a bullet ricochets off of his cover. They all hid behind boxes or massive Leviathan ribs. “I could ult—but I don’t think I could get all of them,” he says, disheartened. Wattson takes the Interception Pylon off of her back and sets it up, earning a nod from Revenant. A sharp zap and Wattson smiles, her Pylon having destroyed an arc star.

_Loba slinks into the factory, the Idol in hand. She moves forward carefully, using a flare in the other hand to light her way._

Revenant growls, climbing up the rib. It’s too far for either Mirage or Wattson to climb, so they give him a nod. ‘We’ll be here—do whatever you’re planning to do.’

He sets up his death totem—hidden, of course—and relishes in the familiar feeling of being a shadow. The tingling cold, the distant sensation that you’re not actually there. It’s like a dream.

Well, on the battlefield, it’s more like a nightmare.

_The entire factory is cast in red light, revealing empty bodies. Simulacrum models, rows and rows. Hundreds of these…_ things _. Loba sneers mockingly at one of them, before returning to the task at hand. The Container. Where is it?_

He glides through the desert like a wraith—an ironic comparison, of course—dodging bullets and leaping up to meet the enemy. Bloodhound reacts well, punching holes through the Shadow with the R-301, an anvil receiver attached to it. The newbie, though?

The masked human freezes, allowing Revenant to slip behind them and send a knife-like hand into their chest, blood soaking their outfit and the Shadow.

With a clean headshot, Revenant is sent back. How… _fun_. It was only the two of them. “Knocked one. They’re probably reviving. Let’s get ‘em, skinsuits.”

_There it was. The Container. A face—John Bakersfield, that’s what Jaime said his name was. So plain. So boring. Not at all like the creature she knew. Behind the face, of course, was the brain—the one thing she could really, truly kill him by destroying. Jaime had done research—Loba had made sure._

_She looked at the glass surrounding it. No doubt it had an alarm attached. Who would want their prized possession shot?_

_Loba decides, perhaps, melting the glass will work. She takes the flare, hoping like hell it’s hot enough. Fortunately, it begins to melt. She huffs at the slow pace. Fine. She’s waited for a long time. She can wait a bit longer._

Revenant straightens, looking around, pausing his looting of Bloodhound’s deathbox. Desert. Wasteland. King’s Canyon. Familiar.

“Something’s wrong.”

_Nearly an inch of the way through. A bit more, and the angle can be perfect._

Mirage looks at him strangely. “Uh—yeah. There’s still another team left. The paranoia settles in around top five for me.”

“No. Something beyond the Games.”

“Wh-huh? What do you mean by _that_?” Mirage laughs, but quiets when Revenant doesn’t reply.

_A bit over an inch—it’s almost completely through. The glass is fairly thick—it needs to be, to be so well protected._

After a moment, Revenant sighs. “Finally.”

Wattson looks up. “Are you—what’s happening?” Mirage stands in front of the simulacrum. “Hey—bud, uh—Revenant! You’re acting weird!”

_Loba aims a pistol. She perfectly aligns it, the hole big enough for her to see the face clearly. Pale grey eyes—ones that used to be a light blue—glance towards her as she pulls the trigger. Before the alarms go off, it smiles. “Thank you.”_

Revenant’s eyes go dim as he sinks to his knees, the simulacrum program desperately trying to restart and access the base program. A basic version of the volunteer’s memories, enough to have a sense of self but not even close to the three hundred years he’s lived. Every simulacrum has it, as a defense protocol.

Mirage’s eyes widen. “What the—hey! We’re in a match you—you—”

Wattson furrows her brows, electricity sparking around her hands as she puts her hands on the unresponsive simulacrum’s shoulders. The metal easily conducts the electricity, surrounding Revenant in a bright blue flash.

“Come on—we don’t have time for this—if this is out of spite, I’ll—”

_Loba dispatches the sentries with ease—no bombs, no explosions, just a few shots. She strides out of King’s Canyon, Jaime silently flying at the entrance of the tunnel/warehouse. She jumps into the small helicopter, sitting beside Jaime._

_“Did you succeed?”_

_“You know it.”_

Mirage’s head snaps to the side as he falls, bleeding on the dust surrounding Skull Town. Caustic smiles to himself, reloading the Kraber he never uses. Wraith nods in approval to the scientist.

“Just Wattson.”

Wraith aims a Sentinel at the electrical engineer, firing with a small breath. It hits her in the leg, forcing her down. Then, with a relaxed exhale, she squeezes the trigger once more, the bullet piercing Wattson’s neck. Caustic silently appreciates the beautiful shot before looking around.

“The game isn’t over.”

Wraith frowns. “Revenant is down, isn’t he? Either that or one of them have a resurrection shield.”

Caustic sighs, before sliding off the cliff face they were sitting on. Wraith follows, holstering her Sentinel across her back and idly playing with her kunai as she sprinted to the other team.

_“We should watch the game—it’s streaming live right now, isn’t it?” Jaime says, a small screen inside the helicopter flickering to life, invisible drones capturing footage of the Legends. Announcers talk, faux desperate, about Revenant’s sudden deactivation. Loba smiles slightly. Wraith and Caustic charge confidently towards the downed team, neither Wattson nor Mirage making any attempts to self-revive._

_“What’s happening?” Loba questions. “The game should be over.”_

_“Maybe one of them is finding a hiding place?” Jaime suggests._

_“Either that or…” She scowls. “Either that or the fucker’s still ticking.”_

Wraith stalks over to the slowly bleeding out team. She smiles at Mirage. “No hard feelings?” Mirage nods, smiling. With a Kraber bullet in his brain, his speech isn’t really that comprehendible. Wattson fares the same, her throat barely connected together. She offers a small smile to Caustic, who ignores the lingering guilt.

Wraith glances towards Revenant, char marks from Wattson’s electricity all over the robot. “Did you accidentally shock him?” Wattson shakes her head. Wraith walks towards the still-deactivated body, it’s eyes blank and dim. She pokes him, expecting something.

**Rebooting..........**

**System Online—2702-1-31-12:02:32 (R.V.N.T.) Third Update (Base Knowledge)**

**REVENANT – ACTIVE**


	2. Man With A Heart Of Copper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of gore right off the bat here, sorry!

Wraith splutters as a razor-sharp hand sinks into her abdomen, letting go of the kunai. Blood surrounds her mouth and the new wound, and little ridges on the simulacrum’s arm catch on nerves. Revenant abruptly grabs her right arm with the hand still passing through her body and rips the limb off after a moment of sickening tearing. Nerves explode with pain as cool air hits them and Wraith screams, agony coursing through her body. Revenant lets the body slide off his arm as he stands, turning his gaze towards the scientist leveling a Flatline at him.

The simulacrum darts forward faster than Caustic can pull the trigger and rips the gun out of his hands. With one hand, Revenant sinks blade-like fingers in-between his arm bones, snapping the scientist’s ulna with a few fingers. Caustic attempts to scream, the sound cut off by a coughing fit. Revenant grabs the man’s throat and sinks a thumb into the soft skin underneath the adam’s apple, while a limp, gloved hand desperately tries to push his hand away. With a snarl, he slices the scientist’s throat open, blood gushing down his apron.

“And we have our Apex Champions!”

Revenant lets go of Caustic, searching for the voice while Mirage stands up, staring incredulously at the simulacrum. Wattson rises tentatively, leaning on her good leg. The invisible camera drones become visible, flitting about. A helicopter descends from nowhere, the blades beating hard enough to kick up a wall of dust _—_ Revenant smiles to himself.

“There’s the team!” He laughs, referring to whoever he thought was controlling the helicopter. Wattson’s eyes widen, shocked at how… _happy_ he sounds. Revenant turns to Wattson and Mirage, before stepping behind both of them. “Come on, you’re both hurt.” Mirage nearly squeaks as the simulacrum picks him up with one arm, before lifting Wattson as well. He casually runs to the helicopter, smooth yet quick.

When he reaches the dust-concealed helicopter, he warns, “Close your eyes. Dust in the eyes ain’t fun.” His two teammates comply, shutting their eyes tight as dust smacks them in the face. Revenant steps into the helicopter, gently placing his two teammates onto the seats towards the back.

_Loba is fuming. She sends a fist into the side of the plane when she lands, her knuckles exploding in pain when she punches the metal._

_“Ele vai morrer—I will tear him apart limb by limb and watch the sparks die. I swear it.” She turns to Jaime, who is desperately searching for information._

_“They-they must’ve installed a backup—or-or a base drive or something—”_

_“If you don’t find out what the_ _they did extra, I will feed you to the fucking rats.”_

_Jaime glances at Loba, watching her sigh. “I’m—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t’ve snapped like that.”_

Suffocating. That’s the best way to describe it. Nurses, doctors, and technicians— _everywhere_. Revenant stands outside of the Medbay, waiting for…his teammates. His allies? Friends? Charges? Who _are_ they? All he knows is they didn’t attempt to kill him. So, he’ll be nice. For now.

The hustle and bustle inside of the room behind him has him worried. A nurse passes by and he gently puts a hand on her shoulder—she visibly flinches when she looks up. “What are they doing in there? You said they were minor injuries.” Truthfully, he had no idea how they survived. A bullet to the brain? At best, the guy should barely be a person. And the girl— her throat was ripped apart. That would be ages of reconstructive surgery—or something similar, at least.

The nurse forces a smile she tries to convey as ‘comfortable and kind’. “Oh, it’s customary for Legends who have won and are injured to stay a bit longer than usual. Just to check and see if they’re properly logged in.”

“If they’re not?”

The nurse answers, slightly less shakily, “Then, they die for real. With how famous those two are, I’m sure the fans of the Apex Games would be quite upset if they passed.”

Revenant hums and glances up at one of the bigger windows of the Ship. It was half-covered, so a little bit of blinding white light could be seen. He looks back down to the nurse. “Thank you, miss.” She nods and walks away quickly.

It took an extra half an hour, Revenant standing still until the doors opened and his two… allies stepped out.

They’re talking as they leave, and the one with the bright yellow suit and the small scars on his face pauses when he sees Revenant.

“Hey—listen, I’m sorry for falling so quickly, I was too distracted and I should’ve remembered to be cautious,” Mirage rambles, bowing his head slightly.

Revenant frowns to himself, before placing a hand on the man’s shoulder. “I don’t remember what happened to you, but there was a hole in your head. You can’t exactly do much with that bad of a head wound—It’s okay.” Revenant smiles to the man, unaware he can’t. The woman with the blonde bobcut smiles, before hugging the simulacrum.

He gently puts his hand on her back, an attempt at reciprocation. He’s slightly less than two feet taller than her, there isn’t much he can do.

When she pulls away, he questions, “I know this is sort of late, but, who are you two?”

The one with scars blinks. “You—you don’t remember us? I’m—I’m _Mirage_ —this is Wattson—”

“Those can’t possibly be your real names,” Revenant replies after a moment. Then, he snaps his fingers, well, tries. It’s more of a clang than a snap. “You remind me of someone! Ah, what was his name…” A human amount of frustration leaks into his voice as he struggles to chase the familiarity of this Mirage.

“Gryz Witt. That’s who you remind me of!” Revenant laughs, a single happy memory with the man resurfacing. He had made him porkchops at one point. The woman named Wattson raises an eyebrow, while Mirage’s breathing halts for a moment. “God, I wonder how he’s doing?”

_Loba paces restlessly. She couldn’t have failed. This…_

_“Revenant’s still dead. He’s pretty much a metal human at this point. None of the personality. Plus, you want to dismantle the thousands of copies?”_

_“I’m sure I could find the time,” Loba replies, running her hand through unbraided hair, tousling it. This was a battle technically won—but it was far less than satisfying._

Wraith steps out of her room, rubbing at her shoulder. She walks into the Commons where every Legend sits, aside from Crypto and Caustic. The latter didn’t enjoy hanging out with the others, liking to work on things in the lab. The former was just a loner.

Mirage cheerfully explains the Apex Games to Revenant, who sits politely on a plush chair while Elliott sits criss-cross on the couch, facing him. Bloodhound sits beside the over-excited man while nursing tea, mask barely lifted. Revenant briefly wondered how they don’t sweat their ass off in all that gear.

Gibraltar and Ajay add into the conversation, explaining a few things that the simulacrum dutifully tries to remember, the program silently and subtly compiling a file of rules for the Games. Pathfinder’s screen display emojis as the Legends talk, showing how he feels about each and every detail.

Revenant glances up as Wraith steps into the Commons, sporting a galaxy t-shirt and black sweatpants. Silently, he leaps over the couch and sprints towards Wraith, hand formed into a blade. The second before he kills the voidwalker, Pathfinder grapples Revenant, dragging him backwards and effectively slamming him into the wall.

“…And that’s Wraith!” Elliott quickly introduces, panicked slightly. “Please don’t kill her. We try not to hold grudges here.”

Revenant huffs, before sighing. “My… I’m sorry.” After a beat he adds, “And the way I killed you was, admittedly, a bit much.”

“No kidding,” she snarks, before smiling. “You know what? It’s okay. I’ve never heard you apologize before, Rev. What’s goin’… on?”

Crypto calls out from his room, “Someone messed around with the simulacrum program and he’s suddenly not a pain in the ass.” Revenant looks to the room.

“Hey! That’s… rude…”

_Jaime sighs, leaning backwards in his chair. Loba disappeared for a job, something about the Jewels of Ticacek. Whatever those were. He runs a hand through his hair, rustling it up. He looks up as many things as possible about the Simulacrum Program—it’s 300 fucking years old at this point, what can he do?_

_There’s still stories, and the news is complaining that the latest champions haven’t shown up for interviews. Doesn’t matter, they’re just there for Mirage and Wattson. The paparazzi would probably shit themselves if Revenant showed up._

Revenant reluctantly steps into the crowd, glancing around with an instinctual paranoia. Cameras flash, and chatter rises. Mirage gets several microphones in his face, and Wattson gets a few—most of them electrical engineers absolutely fascinated by her work. A few, rather suspicious people snap photos of the two Legends, earning a harsh glare from Revenant.

The majority of the paparazzi and interviewers shove microphones into _his_ face, though. _This is fine. They don’t matter._

“What happened in the Ring today? Why did you pretend to be downed? Was it a method for fooling Wraith and Caustic?”

Revenant remembers what Mirage told him to do. To lie, make things seem pointless to follow. Of course, that won’t stop them, but try.

“One of the damn newbies had an EMP and it worked better than Crypto's. Mirage over there was worried,” he lies, bored, if a little irritated sounding. It’s a shit lie, but considering he just learned the rules of the game less than an hour ago, he thinks it’s okay. He spares a quick glance to the other Legends—just to see how they’re handling this. One question in and he’s already incredibly nervous. Mirage is charming and suave as ever, while Wattson politely answers questions. He can see it though—she’s just as stressed as he is.

“How has life fared for you inside the Ship outside the Arena?” A woman asks, pointing a microphone to his face.

“It has been… odd…” Revenant pauses. “They’re rather friendly.”

_Loba sighs. She can wait until the next match. Jaime will log Revenant out from the Respawn module, and she’ll wait for him to die. If he doesn’t?_

_Well, it’s not like there’s never been an assassination relating to him._

Fifteen questions in, Mirage and Wattson are antsy. Wattson more so. Abruptly, Revenant raises his hand, and the crowd quiets briefly.

“We have to prepare for the next game. While I thank you for the questions, we must go.” The crowd roars, and Revenant notices Wattson’s hands twitch, nearly going up to cover her ears. _It’s the noise, huh? I get it._ He not-so-subtly ushers the Legends away, putting a hand on Mirage’s shoulder.

“You have to deal with them every win? Christ, I think it ain’t worth it,” Revenant jokes once they get back into the Commons.

Mirage turns to him while Wattson heads to the living area. “Why—why are you so nice to me and Nat all of a sudden?”

“You’re like the friends at a party full of strangers, Elliott. I know you and Natalie the best.”

Mirage smiles, genuinely. “Yeah, like an hour more than anyone else. I honestly thought you’d like Path more.”

Revenant tilts his head. “Why’s that?”

“Cause you’re both robots, you know?” Mirage explains, a smile on his face the entire time.

“No I’m not,” Revenant laughs, unaware. He hadn’t had the Realization by update three. 

“You—you’re kidding, right? Like—what do you think you are?”

Revenant easily replies, as though it was scripted, “I’m a _person_ , obviously. John Bakersfield, professional assassin.” The simulacrum does an exaggerated bow, before sarcastically adding, “At your service.”

Elliott’s eyes widen, surprised. He then grabs Revenant’s hand and rushes towards Crypto, startling the younger man into dropping his headphones.

“What do you want?”

“Find everything you can on John Bakersfield.”

“I’ll need more than that for such a plain name,” Crypto responds, unimpressed. Revenant makes a mildly offended noise but doesn’t say anything otherwise. Tae Joon raises an eyebrow, expecting one of them to describe the man.

Mirage leans close to Crypto. “He doesn’t know he’s a robot. That’s who he thinks he is.”

Crypto’s eyes widen, eyebrows shooting up. “How does someone not know that?”

_Loba waited patiently at a gala, a sparkling orange-red dress proving to be rather…inconvenient. Wealthy, arrogant snobs walk around, talking with other wealthy, arrogant snobs, complimenting the wine or pretending to have knowledge. She waits for her target to step into view, a glittering necklace adorning her neck. It was fake gold, the thief knew. What she really wanted was the faux obi made of pure gold silk, the fabric worth millions. The target isn’t even wearing a kimono, and yet wears an obi. Loba snickers to herself. A knot would be easy to undo, and for that? Worth it._

Revenant sits alone inside the barren room made for him by the Games’s creators. He hums lowly, displeased. It wasn’t— _couldn’t_ be sadness. He apparently wasn’t capable of that. With a soft sigh, he listens to Mirage ramble outside his door.

“Hey—look, I’m sorry—I didn’t know you would take it like this and—wait, that sounds bad—I’m sorry, okay?”

_They made me this monster. It’s not your fault, Elliott. It’s theirs. I see the signs now, I chose to ignore them._

His gaze flits to the door.

_I was never hungry. Never tired. Never really desiring anything. That was my fault, for not noticing._

Mirage knocks again, but the simulacrum has made up his mind.

_Any pathetic skinsuit inside Hammond Robotics will pay._


	3. Trial and Error

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the lovely peeps that commented on the og set of chapters! You guys are the only reason this is getting continued, really. So, once again, thank you! (Please enjoy, and I'm so sorry if it's not good)

Revenant finally opens his door, Mirage mid-knock. “Hey! How are you—look, I’m sorry for—”

“It’s not your fault,” the simulacrum explains, clipped. He carefully tries to conceal anything besides impassivity.

“But—”

“There isn’t really a way to gently explain your way of living for the past twenty years was all fake, Elliott. And, on top of that, there’s no nice way to say ‘you’ve lost about three hundred years of a life you’ve hated’.”

Mirage opens his mouth like he’s going to say something to further try and pin the blame on himself— _Why does he do that?_

Instead, he says, “I guess you’re right.” _Am I consoling him now? Is that what this is?_

Mirage takes a breath, before smiling, genuinely. “Well, tomorrow is the last match of the week. Get some rest, okay?"

“You too.”

_The next match starts tomorrow at eight in the morning, and it will probably last to eleven. If Revenant wins, he’ll be out in the open for the interview. If he loses? He dies. Loba massages her temples, irritated and impatient._

_Jaime will log Revenant off mid-match, so the doctors and nurses will assume his entire squad has been eliminated._

_Newbies aren’t logged into the respawn server with the Legends, merely a smaller one that doesn’t send them to the official Medbay. So, if he’s not in a team with another Legend, they’ll think he lost._

_“It’s too simple—he’ll win, for sure. He’ll win, and he won’t show up for the interview—or he’ll know you’re there.”_

_Loba’s hands twitch, and she spares a glance to the briefcase sitting oh-so-prettily against the wall of her room. Inside it was an improved Longbow DMR—she had personalized it as well, while waiting. A wolf head design is painted on the side, a white outline and orange body color._

You know something that gets resolved as you further your career of climbing skyscrapers and killing rich snobs?

A fear of heights.

“H-holy shit oh no nope—not dealing with that—can they like let me in another way? Anything else is fine just not this oh God—” Revenant closes his eyes, standing underneath the dropship on a _barely_ secure platform.

Bloodhound laughs lightly. “Don’t worry, morð vinur, you will not die from falling here. If you fly off the arena, however…”

“Into the lava? That’s an _option_?”

“Yes. World’s Edge contains quite a bit of lava, but some of it isn’t instantly-killing.”

The newbie on their team smiles at the Mirage Voy’age, shoving the two Legends off of the platform and flying towards it. “Next time, actually say something before you push us off!” Revenant snarls, drowned out by the newbie’s cheering.

They fly towards the ship, holograms surrounding it. The chilling feeling of being watched surrounds him, and he chances a look backwards.

_Oh._

“Everyone and their mother is here! Let’s dip below ship and let everything blow over—”

The newbie lands on the Voy’age as Revenant breaks off, stumbling into the snow. He watches a dozen people join his teammate, before a little ‘ping!’ informed him his teammate had been punched to death. Bloodhound glances at the simulacrum.

“We must press on,” they remind him, heading down a zipline to the small set of buildings near the Voy’age. “May the Allfather guide us—”

“—to a fate better than _that_ ,” Revenant quietly finishes, smiling to himself as Bloodhound chuckles over the comms.

_Jaime clicks through the servers—several names already grayed out. Michelle Batchovik—teamed up with two other newbies, her banner lost to the lava._

_What a disappointing way to go._

_Jameson Taiche, punched to death—his banner rested atop the Mirage Voy’age. He was teamed up with Bloodhound and Revenant._

_Fuck._

_Jaime clicks to the two Legends’ icons, deleting Revenant from the Respawn server. A live feed of the Game was displayed on another monitor, showing the two of them looting around the abandoned Voy’age, Bloodhound pressing a button on a roof area to reveal the previous raiders had missed the Cargo Bot deployment._

_The two purple supply containers shoot upwards, accompanied by an obnoxiously loud clip of music. Revenant punches one, snagging the purple bodyshield. Bloodhound takes the sniper optics in theirs, setting it up on a Triple Take._

Revenant sighs, bullets punching holes in the snow, kicking up little flurries beside him. Bangalore laughs distantly, holstering an Alternator and replacing it with her Havoc, the weapon buzzing. Bloodhound growls, their eyes flashing red. This was the third time they had called for the Allfather’s help, and it was beau— _cool_ every time. Revenant watches with an intent fascination as they slide out of cover, nailing Bangalore in the skull with the fully charged Triple Take, the three bullets condensed into one super-strong shot. They growl, searching around for her teammate. After no one appears, they relax, and walk over to Bangalore.

“You fought well, hermaður,” Bloodhound says, crouching beside Bangalore, who smiles. Then, easily, they squeeze the trigger on their charged Triple Take once more, and the soldier’s deathbox materializes. As they loot, Revenant walks towards them.

“You know how _badass_ that whole ‘channeling the Allfather’ shit is?” Revenant compliments the Hunter, brashly. They mumble a ‘thank you’, before pausing.

“One more squad left.”

“You think it’s whoever was teamed with Bangalore?”

The Hunter hums their agreement, before scanning. Nothing shows up.

Revenant frowns to himself. “The Ring’s pretty small, where could they be hiding—”

Bloodhound shoves the simulacrum aside, back into cover, as Pathfinder fires an R-99 at Revenant, hitting the Hunter with an entire magazine.

Instead of getting downed, Bloodhound dies instantly. Their deathbox springs towards Revenant’s cover, shining gold— his teammate’s banner missing—as though it had been a squad wipe.

_The announcers mutter amongst themselves, confused, as Pathfinder stalks towards Revenant’s cover. Jaime peers intently. This is it, this is his goal. COME ON YOU STUPID MRVN YOU HAVE ONE JOB!_

“Pathfinder! Pathfinder, please hold on a moment—” Revenant calls out, sinking lower into his cover.

“What is it, friend?”

“Something’s not right—Bloodhound was my teammate—they never got downed, which means something’s wrong with _me_ right now. I don’t know what’ll happen if you kill me, okay?” _I don’t want to die. Not like this, not in a fucking bloodsport. Somewhere at home. Anywhere but here._

Pathfinder pauses. “How do I know you’re not lying to me, friend?” the MRVN questions, cheerful.

“I will literally toss away my entire inventory, guns, grenades, everything. If you promise not to kill me.” _I’m like a hostage and a negotiator at the same time. Never been on that side of the situation._

Revenant slowly rises, tossing aside everything he’d collected this game. A Prowler and a Peacekeeper are tossed away as well, making a dull sound in the snow.

Pathfinder cocks his head slightly. “Sorry, friend.”

“You motherfucker—fine! Do whatever!” _Call my bluff please. I’m terrified. Don’t do it._

Pathfinder aims his grapple at the simulacrum, the tactical ability shooting forward. Revenant moves to the side, grabbing the rope. He wraps it around his wrist as he tugs, sending the MRVN flying towards him—his gun dropped at the sudden movement.

With a both a massive clang and a loud cracking, Revenant smashes his head against the MRVN’s optic, shattering the glass. The robot stumbles as the simulacrum throws him to the snow with the grip on his grapple. Before Pathfinder could speak, Revenant sends a bladed hand through his chest, breaking the screen and wincing as electricity dances over the titanium of his arm.

Fear pulses through his body, not programmed but very much _there._ If he could, he’d be crying. What is _happening?!_ Why does nothing seem right?!

“And we have our Apex Champion!” the same announcer lady says.

_“Shit.”_

_The announcers talk about Revenant’s change—they note how skilled he suddenly is at seeming human, and the risky strategies he uses. Jaime snarls in frustration. After a moment, he calls Loba._

_“What is it?” she questions, voice sharp._

_“Do you still have that sniper rifle?”_

The Medbay staff claimed they had no idea how Revenant was logged out. He went to visit Bloodhound, see how they were doing, when the nurse he had spoke to yesterday piped up. “He’s not in the Respawn server. I guess the whole pretend-I’ll-actually-die thing back in World’s Edge was real.”

_Loba sits atop an office building’s rooftop, peering through the scope at Bloodhound. They were doing their interview—which was mostly consisted of repeating that Bloodhound is, in fact, their name, and no, they will not take off the mask for strangers. It was becoming repetitive. A fan tries to rip the mask off of the Hunter, only to get shoved away by a bodyguard. After a moment, Revenant steps out. He joins the Hunter reluctantly, uncomfortable with the crowd. Everyone turns their attention to the simulacrum, questioning him on his act in the Ring._

_Loba adjusts her aim, before realizing Revenant is blocked by both a podium and the paparazzi. Fine. Improvisation is key._

_She shifts back to Bloodhound, slipping her finger on the trigger. With a short squeeze, she sends a bullet soaring towards the Hunter._

Revenant stands before Bloodhound, facing the Hunter, warnings and alerts screaming that there’s a massive wound from his back to his chest, a bullet lodged somewhere in between. He barely made it, the bullet towards his left. It nearly hit Bloodhound dead-on.

The simulacrum ducks downwards, hiding behind the crowd as another bullet crashes into the ground. It would’ve hit him directly if he was standing.

_Loba scowls. He was fucking psychic—that_ has _to be the answer! There’s no way he could’ve known what she’d do. What did Hammond install in their bots?_

 _The crowd scrambles as the Legends are ushered inside at a rate impossible to hit them with. Loba stands up, shouldering the Longbow. Jaime hovers beside Loba, the small plane obvious in the cityscape. The thief steps onto it, and the door closes. “Fine then. I’ll just go to Hammond Robotics. Learn everything_ else _I can.” With a slightly wicked grin, she adds, “Whatever it takes.”_

Mirage desperately frets over the simulacrum as he recovers in the Medbay. Technicians unfamiliar with his design try their best to repair him, unable to remove the bullet that has likely fallen to the bottom of his chestplate. The little ‘plink’ every time he moves is going to drive him insane, though.

The superficial outer layer was easy enough, while the damaged wires were carefully reconnected. Mirage talked the whole time, the stream of consciousness style rambling rather comforting. Bloodhound walked in, once, and muttered something unintelligible before saying, “Thank you, morð vinur. I owe you my life.”

Revenant laughed at that. “No, I think we’re even now. You saved me in the arena.” Bloodhound nodded, smiling slightly. Just to themself. They walked out of the Medbay, before standing guard just outside of it’s doors, like Revenant had done.

Currently, though? Mirage is poking at the newly-welded titanium, the outer plate having been replaced quite easily. He frowns. “It’s not the same color. That bugs me, for some reason.”

“I’m sure you can find spray paint _somewhere_ ,” Revenant replies, just happy not to have his insides on display. It was still weird though, as they dug through the chest plate. He was expecting blinding, horrible pain at every turn but merely felt pressure. Some of the wires that sparked had caused discomfort, but not nearly enough to classify as ‘pain’.

The nurse he had met before—Suzie, he learned—comes in with a clipboard detailing everything damaged. She smiles at the simulacrum, earning a little wave. “It says you’re good to go. Don’t take anymore bullets outside the arena, though.”

Revenant chuckles as Mirage excitedly brings him out to the Commons, where most of the Legends are sitting. Wattson looks up at Mirage quickly, and smiles. “You’re back! What took so long?”

Bloodhound walks out from behind the two, sitting on an unoccupied couch. “He had to get repaired after the interview.”

“What happened?” Wattson asks, suddenly concerned.

“Some asshole shot at Bloodhound,” Revenant grumbles. “I may have caught it…in the back.” Wattson frowns, not expecting the Hunter of all people to get shot at in public. Granted, only Caustic really has potential in that category.

“But—what are _you_ guys doing?”

“It’s movie night! Care to join us?”

_I have to find info on Hammond’s home base. Got it._

_Jaime sits at his desk, not doing anything. Eventually, he rests his head on his arms, exhausted. This is a pointless revenge mission. Loba’s blind, he eventually settles on. She can’t see the pointlessness of this. The man who killed your family is gone. In his stead is practically a completely different person. So what if they’ve got the same not-at-all-subtly skull-like face?_

The movie is new. It’s odd, having missed centuries of culture. Things look better, people say different things…

During the movie, Revenant sits politely, preferring one of the lone plush chairs. There’s enough space for at least twenty Legends, but a majority of the Legends lie on the couch or sit close to their significant others. Revenant fidgets idly, not at all focused on the film, before noticing something _just_ peeking out from underneath the chair. He picks it up, cautiously. It’s… a book. An old one, from centuries ago—the cover is worn, taped up in some places—inside the cover, the name ‘Nox’ is written, concise and in perfect print.

A man walks into the kitchen quietly, disgruntled and with a small brace around his previously broken wrist. Caustic. He was the only one Revenant hadn’t fully met yet.

The simulacrum rises to a standing—Elliott glances at him briefly, distracted by the movement—before walking towards the scientist, book still in hand. “I’m sorry, Caustic, for yesterday. I was a bit…”

The scientist raises an eyebrow while pouring coffee into a mug, before dismissing the robot’s fears. “Don’t apologize for brutality. It was new, which I appreciate.” He mumbles to himself a moment after, “shooting is so _boring_ after a while.” Revenant nods, before turning back to the Legends. “And, that book you have in your hand. It’s mine.”

“Are you Nox?” _That is has to be a coincidence. It’s too fitting. It’s like it was hand-picked for him._

“Yes,” the scientist grumbles, taking the book from the simulacrum’s hand. They return to their respective places, Caustic heading back to his lab, Revenant to the living area.

The windows are uncovered, as the Ship had to briefly dock in order to refuel and get checked for damage. Revenant glances at the lights outside, illuminating a massive landing area. He thinks for a moment, before looking at the other Legends—Elliott holds the popcorn bowl to his chest, the contents being nothing but kernels. He’s crying at the movie, leaning next to Bloodhound, who is silent. Are they crying? Who knows.

“Let me get you more popcorn,” Revenant offers, plucking the bowl out of Elliott’s hands. The man sniffles a ‘please and thank you’, before returning to his emotional investment in a film. The simulacrum walks towards the kitchen, before pouring more popcorn kernels into the cooker, putting the bowl underneath it. After a bit of cooking, it’ll automatically drop the popcorn into the bowl. Hopefully someone comes out and grabs it.

Revenant slinks through the halls of the Ship, a map directing him to the exit. He avoids the numerous cameras, his optics as dim as possible. When he eventually reaches the exit, the MRVNs in charge of fixing up the Ship stare quizzically at him.

“How long until the Ship leaves?”

One of them answers, cheerfully, “Eight hours, if everything goes well.”

A small timer begins ticking, counting down, in the corner of his view. Eight hours to travel across the Outlands and find Hammond home base. Fine.


	4. Distress, Distraction, Dichotomy

It took a little while, but there it is. Revenant stands in front of a Hammond Robotics office building, rain-soaked and angry. He had no companions as he made his way, merely the festering thought that ‘they need to pay’. It was a comfortable anger, feeling more like a purpose.

There were glass double doors at the entrance, their symbol right in the center of the two doors, painted in white. Rain blurred the figures of a receptionist and suit-clad men and women, the glint of robotic limbs apparent. A MRVN was mopping the inside of the lobby, occasionally picking up trash left behind by the pathetic excuses of a top brass.

Revenant could see Pathfinder in all of them, which only pushed him further.

He opens the glass doors, casually, as though he belonged. _You do belong. They made you, after all._ The receptionist looks up and screams, covering her mouth. Her eyes are blown wide, and everyone in the entire room turns to face him.

“What? Got something on my face?” he snaps, annoyed by the apparent difficulty. It’d be impossible to get anyone to spill _anything_ but blood if everyone’s running. “I’d like to talk to whoever _won’t_ scream at my presence for a moment.”

The crowd scrambles, the receptionist quickly picking up a phone as she dials the police. Revenant darts forward, clearing the entire lobby in less than a second, snatching the phone from her hand. “I don’t want to hurt anyone. Just tell me where the boss is, okay?”

The receptionist nods slowly, mouth dry from fear. Her voice catches in her throat, a small breath coming out instead—she can’t even begin to speak, which makes her _more_ scared. Revenant hums, slinking behind the desk. “Just show me the building layout. Point to where they are.”

_Loba strides into the local Hammond Robotics Facility, a black suit dress on. She adjusts a deep orange tie before walking to the receptionist. “Hello, I’m here to see Michael Fatiha?” The receptionist smiles, searching through her computer._

_“Ah—it says here he has a six o'clock meeting—are you Genevive Andrade?”_

_“Of course.”_

“So. You’re the boss here. How much do you know?”

Revenant stands above the man with a golden pin, nearly nose-to-indent with him. The man splutters, nervous, “I-I don’t know anything! I swear!” He’s clad in an entirely black suit, the tie askew—clutched in the hand of an annoyed simulacrum.

“Odd. How have you gotten to this position, then, while uninformed?”

“The—the last boss you killed—I was his second in command! I was there just to keep things decent!” the man turns as tears begin to fall back into his eyes, undoubtedly stinging.

“’Last boss I killed’? What do you mean?” Revenant growls, both frustrated and confused. _Not this ‘I was an asshole’ shit again. How much damage did I do?_

The man underneath him laughs, more nervous laughter than anything. “You—you don’t remember? Lowell? You—” the man sniffs, before turning back to Revenant. “You _dismembered_ the poor guy and _shipped him in pieces_ to his _kids!”_ The simulacrum balks, almost terrified. No. He’s ruthless—brutal, even. But… _that_?

“I wouldn’t…” After a moment, he hums. “Okay, I can imagine it. But I’m not going to rip you limb from limb, okay? So quit with the sniveling, just tell me where Hammond home base is. I want to chat with whoever’s still running the Simulacrum Program.”

The man blinks, more tears trailing down his face. “You’re… not going to kill me?”

“Why, you want me to?” He shakes his head vigorously. “Simulacrum Program. Who kept it going?”

“I think it was…” Another obnoxious ‘sniff’. On second thought, perhaps crying was something Revenant _didn’t_ miss. “Dr. Gamahai? She’s running it now, I think.”

“Where are they?”

“Somewhere in Psamathe,” he mumbles, earning a small smile from Revenant. Of course, the stony face doesn’t translate that. _Should I kill him? I mean—I didn’t get anyone in the lobby, and he’s done nothing to hurt me. Barely put up a fight as I walked in here._

_The skinsu—the man doesn’t deserve it. Where did that even come from? ‘Skinsuit’? Doesn’t matter._

Revenant eventually settles on, “Thank you. Don’t tell them I came here, okay? Apparently for the second time.”

_“Dr. Gamahai! She—she’s the one running Hammond’s Simulacrum Program!”_

_Loba scowls. “And_ where _is she?”_

_“Psamathe!”_

_Loba smiles at the man under her boot, before twisting her foot sharply. His head turns abruptly, a sharp snap the only sound he makes. She strolls out of his office, relaying the information to Jaime. A faint clicking can be heard, and he smiles. “There—Hammond home base. Run by Dr. Taiko Gamahai—who has a notorious reputation for being strict on her employees, apparently.”_

_“She’ll be the key to killing him—I’m sure of it.”_

Thirty minutes. It took nearly three hours to get back to the ship, four hours to get to the place originally, and a half an hour to get through the town and get his info. Thirty minutes left.

The MRVNs that told him how long it would be are there as he gets back, a few of them beeping happily at his return.

“Hello! How was your outing?”

“Stressful,” he replies, stepping into the ship. “Your info was pretty important though. Thanks.” The MRVNs pause, glancing between eachother.

“No problem!” one of them replies, resuming working on the Ship. _What, they never had someone thank them before? Christ._

The Commons was a familiar sight, compared to the slums of the Outlands. He sighs as he walks in, expecting Mirage to be annoyed with him. He never did bring him that popcorn.

Instead, Crypto looks up at him from the couch, his laptop bright in the nearly pitch-black room. It was one in the morning, the smug hacker completely unfazed by how late it was. “I see you’ve done some travelling.”

“I found that tracker. Didn’t give a shit.”

Crypto’s look falters at Revenant’s bluff, before returning to smug. “A Hammond Robotics facility? What’s your plan?”

“What do you think?”

“I think you’re an idiot. But, I’ve got the coordinates of the home base on Psamathe, so I might be inclined to help you out,” Crypto says, a small grin on his face. _Ah. It was a bug, too. Back in my day it was either a camera with audio, a tracker, or a bug. When did he get_ both _?_

Revenant smiles to himself, and replies, “Are you? Well, where is it?”


	5. Mystikal Coincidence

Crypto not-so-eloquently told the simulacrum he had to apologize to Elliott for ditching. Apparently the holoengineer was ‘distressed’ the whole night, wondering where Revenant had gone. He stands before the man, watching him desperately cling to the bulky metal frame, worry bleeding out of every word he mutters.

“I can’t believe you just disappeared like that! I mean—I thought someone got to you—whoever deleted your memory, maybe. I thought you were—”

Revenant places a comforting hand on Mirage’s back, before replying, simply, “I’m a seven-foot metal skeleton with a known history and proficiency in killing, Elliott. I’d be fine.”

Mirage looks up with a nearly-crying face, flushed cheeks and tears brimming. “I know—I _worry_ , okay?”

_Now that I’m not a complete asshat?_

Revenant sighs, glancing to Crypto. The hacker gives him a ‘keep going’ look. “Hey, I’m gonna disappear again, you know. I’ve got something in Psamathe.” Crypto pinches the bridge of his nose. Mirage begins again, questioning the robot about what he’s doing.

“Let me go with you!”

Revenant laughs, shocked at his boldness. “No, of course not.” Bangalore pokes her head out, disturbed by the noise, obviously still tired.

“Finish up your loud-ass discussion somewhere _else_ , please?” she snaps, annoyed, before ducking back in her room.

“In Psamathe, maybe?”

“No, you’re not going with me,” Revenant repeats, glancing back at Crypto, who’s given up on Revenant’s apology and started working on something else. The simulacrum slinks over to the hacker, silently, spooking the man when he speaks again. “Was that sufficient?”

“Better than nothing. Here’s the base—it’s heavily guarded, but just by regular sentries. Probably not that much of a problem. They’ve got guns though, and Dr. Gamahai is pretty famous, so she’ll have bodyguards of her own.”

“Right—remind me again why you’re helping me, you seem like you’d work for Hammond or the Syndicate or something. They’ve got a _ton_ of hackers on their side.”

The man laughs, before staring Revenant dead-on. “Fuck the Syndicate.”

_Loba paces in the plane, patiently waiting to land in Psamathe, excitement and anxiety sending her pulse up. Jaime flies the plane low, a little voice telling him to have hope—this’ll end well. He can see the sentries from here—several of them stare up at him, their single optics glowing brightly._

_“How are you going to deal with ‘em?”_

_Loba peers through her Longbow, rapid-fire disabling the sentries with well-placed shots to the head. She casually tosses her bracelet off the plane, the near-indestructible technology landing unharmed on the grass near the base. She teleports, slipping the bracelet on as she reappears. The sentries spark, but don’t bother her otherwise. She strides towards the door, which prompts her to show a keycard. She flashes the one stolen from the boss she interrogated, a small white-gold card with ‘H.R.’s H.R.’ inscribed on it, clearly an inside joke that made it on a card. Hammond Robotic’s Human Resources, what a prestigious position in a place that deals with robots._

Revenant had no real trouble convincing the skins—the _people_ in upper management to let him go to Psamathe, all it took was a bad guy routine that he made up quite easily. You don’t ask questions when Death Himself is looming over you, demanding to leave, reminding you that He could easily paint your office with your guts. In fact, upper management was _excited_ to have him leave for a bit. Something about ‘less property damage and paperwork for out-of-arena deaths’.

The simulacrum had easily managed to find a train heading to Psamathe, as well. Granted, the moment he walked into the train, half of the people ceased talking, and the other half screamed. From fear _and_ excitement, it blended together. God, people asked for his _autograph_. What the fuck was wrong with them?

The train ride was quick, though, and blessedly so. _Modern technology isn’t that bad._

Of course, walking through streets where people casually wore gold necklaces and pins worth more than houses in the Outlands, people noticed the scratched-up and old simulacrum. Most of them reacted with annoyance, and a few merely disregarded the simulacrum as ‘another person with too many replaced pieces’.

 _How, in what world, could I be a cyborg? And why would_ this _be the look everyone wants?_

With Crypto in his… ear? Head? He could hear the hacker, that’s all that mattered. With Crypto guiding him, he walks towards the base, past towns and into a nearly desolate area, aside from the broken sentries.

“They weren’t like that before. Someone made it here before us.”

Revenant quietly hums in reply, optics dimming. He walks through the broken-into base, stepping over broken sentries casually, like one would a tree branch. Aside from the sentries, drawers were opened, files missing or scattered. “Signs of life ahead of you. Two.”

With a low growl, he heads forward, opening an obviously broken door, optics rapidly adjusting to the lighting of the room—white, unnecessarily bright, and a contrast to the pitch black of a room ago. The first person he sees is the doctor, who’s clearly uncomfortable, but working on her computer. She’s shaking, mistyping words constantly, audibly swearing as she does.

He doesn’t see the second person, hunched in the corner, eyes burning with anger and a smirk created by opportunity.

“Gamahai?” The woman stiffly turns around, before shrieking sharply. She swiftly covers her mouth, shaking even more now. Before he can get another word out, the distinctly familiar sensation of being whacked over the head as hard as possible from behind sends him forward. He recovers slowly, one optic flickering.

“Son of a bitch! What was that for?”

Loba scoffs, aiming a Wingman—a massive step up from the P2020 she deemed too weak for this—and firing. The simulacrum barely dodges, the bullet scraping paint. He crouches behind the table in the center of the room, tall enough to conceal him as he travels towards the woman. “What—are you her bodyguard?”

“My name…” Loba shoots _just_ above Revenant’s head. “Is Loba Andrade. You killed my parents—”

“Prepare to die? Man, I wish. I don’t think I can, actually.”

She scowls, annoyed, before vaulting over the table, whipping the Idol staff where she thought he was. Revenant steps backwards from the front of the table, trying to get his optic to stop flickering. “Crypto—who’s Loba _?_ ”

In an instant, the hacker—who was already looking Loba up and scanning any and all history of her—answers, “ _똥!_ She’s the daughter of Marcos Andrade—who was killed by a hitman twenty-five-or-so years ago.”

Revenant groans, hitting the side of his head. The optic finally quits flickering, but instead of remaining lit, it merely fizzles out. Fantastic. Can’t see half of anything and depth perception is fucked. “And, let me guess—”

He nearly avoids another shot, lunging up onto the ceiling just out of reach of Loba’s staff and relying on the brightness spilling into his view to determine where a light is.

“It was _my_ fault?”

“Yeah—and so was the ton of collateral. Alanza was killed too, but I think it was—”

Revenant avoids another bullet to the back. “Don’t say it was an accident. Knowing me? She probably shot at me and I was irritated.”

“Not an accident, then.”

Loba snarls as she rapid-fire shoots at Revenant, who drops from the ceiling right in front of her. She jolts away as she reloads. “Listen—I’m—”

A bullet pierces his chest, a jagged hole now revealing wiring. The Wingman shot—remarkably powerful for a pistol—went through completely, the table behind him able to be seen. He stumbles slightly, resisting the instinct to paint the clean tile floor red with her blood, before decorating the ceiling with viscera. _Huh._

_Why not? She means nothing to you—you’re here for Gamahai._

He attempts to sink claw-like fingers into her throat, when a dull numbness greets the action. His arm to the left of the wound—the same side as the damaged optic—doesn’t respond. Fine then. Improvisation. God, this is gonna suck.

Loba watches in disgust as the simulacrum laughs flatly, detaching his left arm and testing its weight in his right. After a second, he darts forward, swinging the titanium, bone-like arm as though it was a proper weapon. Loba deflects with her staff, the resounding metal clang loud enough to be uncomfortable. Gamahai, who is hunched in her chair, covers her ears.

Crypto hums. “Didn’t see that coming.”

Revenant flips the limb in his grip, and swings again, the claw-like fingers scratching Loba. She growls and swings the staff, the Idol cracking metal as it hits.

_Revenge. It has to be it._

The knee joint only described as ‘impractical’ doesn’t respond well to a dense, metal staff being slammed against it with revenge-level strength. It dented until a noticeable bend was there, and, with a bright orange spark, smoke begins pouring from every crevice in the simulacrum. Loba isn’t fazed, as though she’s seen this before.

Revenant panics slightly, only to get engulfed in the smoke, sparks dancing along his body. He backs away slightly, entirely unaware this was possible. Loba swings the staff again, electricity consuming the Idol, shocking the simulacrum back into a corporeal form as it hits.

“I’ve studied that bullshit smoke trick.”

“I didn’t! What—what is it?”

Loba gives him an odd look, before twirling and sending the electrified Idol back at him. He barely dodges, the bright blue arcing past his face. _For actually being a nightmare simulacrum, I don’t feel like it._

He steps backwards toward Gamahai, who looks like she’s practically in shock. He avoids touching her at all, the likelihood of shocking her to six feet below still up there at 100%. Loba aims the wingman again, sending three bullets into the simulacrum. Two more in the chest, one more weakening his other arm.

“What is wrong with you? Why aren’t you putting up a fight?!” Loba yells, golden eyes flashing with not-at-all-concealed frustration.

“Don’t get mad at _me_ , I didn’t do shit! Should’ve yelled at me a little earlier!” Revenant manages, voicebox dying.

Jaime finally says, in Loba’s comms, “He’s right, you know. You’re the reason he’s not putting up _nearly_ the fight he would’ve.”

“I’m—whatever I did, I’m sorry, okay?” The apology was far more convincing without a limb. And with the wheezing tone. Loba twitches, debating the honesty. “I’m probably going to be replaced again anyway, there’s thousands of copies in this place alone.” Revenant sinks downwards, resting against the table.

The thief abruptly laughs, “not if I have anything to say—” She pauses, then looks to Gamahai. The doctor begins to bargain, promising the thief anything she wants, when Loba quickly snatches the dislocated limb from Revenant’s hand. She takes the hand off of it’s wrist joint, before clicking something on the inside. It sharpens to a point. 

Gamahai’s face pales as Loba lunges, sending the hand through the doctor’s stomach. The instant it embeds itself, Loba lets go, avoiding the blood pool. Revenant lets out a laugh, only to get another bullet, this one disfiguring the mock jaw.

Jaime, tired of this, reminds the thief, “Cool, you’ve killed the only person able to completely destroy the Simulacrum Program. And said simulacrum sitting there, by the way, completely in the dark about why you’re doing this.”

Loba turns to Revenant, crouching beside him. “You really don’t remember anything, do you?”

“No. Someone destroyed… ‘brain’…days ago.” His voicebox cuts off in the middle of sentences, irritating him. “You did… didn’t you? Thank you. Elliott ‘n…everyone was…happy.”

Loba furrows her brows, sitting for a moment.

_He should die. He should rot here, decorum for the next pathetic bastard that walks in. They will assume Gamahai was killed by him, but that she did enough damage to kill him, too. Easy._

After a long while, Revenant’s other optic flickers out, giving up. Total blackness. He sighs, the stark numbness not a death he expected. The distant memory of being slit open and left to die sticks out. The same discomfort from yesterday still grows whenever he tries to move, sparks landing inside of him.

He jolts when he’s dragged across the ground, Loba—that’s who it has to be, of course—pulling him by the cowl. While the simulacrums were designed to be sturdy, they didn’t weigh nearly as much as MRVNs. With a decent but not horrible struggle, she manages to get the simulacrum outside, where Jaime waits.

“You… what?”

“Help me out. I saw a spare in there.”

Jaime slips out of the plane, stepping over the damaged Revenant. The dragging had damaged him even further, a leg only connected by a particularly defiant wire. He heads inside the base, Loba dragging a spare simulacrum model. Jaime rushes over, grabbing the awkward frame. He snickers at the bald simulacrum, stifling laughter all the way through.

They drag the bodies into the small plane, Revenant not-so-eloquently draped across the backseat. Jaime takes off, Loba telling him to go to the Ship, currently docked somewhere in the Outlands.

Revenant faintly hums as Jaime begins flying, before mumbling coordinates to the Ship. “Thank a diff… hacker for…info.” Jaime nods, flying towards the coordinates.

It doesn’t take long before the blue-haired hacker asks, curious, “What made you change your mind?”

Loba sighs, shrugging. “He thanked me, so, spite. Then he said something about ‘Elliott and everyone was happy’.”

“Like, Elliott Witt? Mirage?” Jaime questions, having watched the games extensively. “He probably made friends with everyone once he lost the attitude.”

“Somehow,” Loba mutters, tired. She looks back at the bodies, still and unmoving other than the occasional spark. The lingering desire to chuck him out of the plane is still _very_ strong.

“Hate heights…” Revenant mutters, nearly inaudible, a small warning informing him that the altitude was far too high.

“At least you’re still ticking.”

Mirage leans over Crypto’s shoulder, watching the hacker peer intently at a black screen. “What’re you looking at?”

Crypto jolts, glancing at Mirage. “Nothing.”

“Uhuh. It’s a live feed of pitch black. And it looks like whatever’s recording it is getting closer,” Mirage points to a small map beside the black, a diamond-shaped red point moving rapidly closer, ignoring buildings and terrain. It’s approaching the stationed ship, slowing only as it goes over. Crypto blinks, getting out of his seat abruptly.

“We’ve got a delivery, and I’m pretty sure it’s not in one piece,” he informs, worriedly. “Grab Pathfinder—he can carry him.”

Crypto’s nearly out the door when Elliott stops him. “Who—who are you talking about?”

As though this was obvious, Tae Joon replies, “You know, Revenant.”

Pathfinder cheerily awaits the plane, Crypto standing beside him, holding his coat in place as the plane lands.

Loba steps out of the plane, a disinterested look in her eyes.

“Where’s the robot?”

“Backseat.”

Pathfinder happily walks towards the plane, only stopped by Loba, who mutters something to him, before letting him go. Jaime steps out, staying back and leaning on the matte grey plane. He glances at Crypto, who offers the most miniscule look of recognition, before finding interest in the concrete ground.

Elliott stares intently, eyes widening when the partly mangled remains of Revenant is casually carried towards him, Pathfinder’s screen sending purple light through the gaps in the simulacrum. Purple always came with a nervous emoji—at least Elliott wasn’t the only one.

Crypto keeps a cold stare on Loba, who boredly inspects her nails. After dropping the simulacrum at the Medbay, Pathfinder returns to the plane, grabbing the spare model. “I see you planned ahead.”

“Just wanted to make the repairs easier. Since you seem attached,” the high society thief replies instantly, a smile on her face. Elliott looks to her, pointing generally to the Medbay.

“Did—did _you_ do this?” he questions, hoping the nice woman he had met that happened to steal his wallet did not, in fact, destroy the simulacrum. She nods, however, and the hologram emitters downstairs manage to create a dozen irritated Mirages, all of them distracting everyone from the cloaking Elliott.

Crypto, however, snatches the man’s collar casually, stopping what would’ve _definitely_ resulted in an insurance-less fight. He can already hear the officiates yelling at them for killing someone outside of the arena. Elliott struggles, before reluctantly disabling the Decoys and decloaking.

Loba laughs, “Sorry sweetheart, can’t kill me yet. Plus, I brought an _extra._ I get credit for that.”

“You lose credit for destroying him in the first place!”

“He loses credit for ruining my life.”

Crypto finishes, “Mirage loses credit for getting his wallet stolen. Are we done?”

Loba smiles, following the hacker as he heads inside, bringing Elliott with him. The woman looks around at every detail of the Ship, occasionally eyeing keycards and the like. The Medbay is nearly deserted, but a few nurses and technicians are already fretting over the state of the latest Legend, who is still humming. It’s his cue he’s fine.

Elliott sits beside him, nervously chattering. “You’re—you’re gonna be fine!”

“I know,” Revenant replies curtly, surprising the holoengineer. “They… just going… replace my body, you …ow.” He grumbles, irritated at the cutting off from the voicebox. It was a simple thing, really, transferring everything. He glances at the spare, deeply uncomfortable. “Is…” he nods slightly to the spare. “That…me?”

Elliott nods, then adds, “Yeah, but you’ve got this scarf-like-thing that’s kinda a cowl too? I mean its cool—never felt it, really, but it’s kinda neat.” Revenant laughs at that as Crypto casually unlocks the simulacrum’s chestplate, peering at it.

“Do you mind not moving? Can’t have any signals shocking me.”

Revenant stills, not even fake-breathing. Crypto reaches in, maneuvering past wires and metal, grabbing the hard drive that’s installed in the back, which had been miraculously missed. He tugs gently, the vital info unlocking from it’s place, easily.

The moment it unlocks, Revenant deactivates—what use do you have for a machine with no programming in the slightest?

Crypto then replaces the spare’s hard drive, darting backwards as the optics flicker on. Revenant sighs, noticing Loba out of the corner of his eye. She looks more annoyed by his repair than anything.

Mirage mumbles, “That’s…it?”

“Yeah. What, you thought we’d take apart the spare and systematically replace everything?” Crypto replies, earning a nod of ‘I mean…yeah.’

They don’t notice Revenant rise to his feet, heading out of the Medbay. Loba follows the simulacrum, making no noise as she trails him. He merely walks to the kitchen, the low sound of the Legends chatting in the Commons disguising his footsteps. _What could…? He doesn’t eat…_

A broken mirror hangs above the sink, the shards lined up along the wall. He gingerly takes one, peering into it, the very, very human face of John Bakersfield staring back, expressive and…

With a remarkably human irritation, he breaks the shard in his hand, carelessly spilling pieces on the floor. Revenant turns to Loba, eyes flashing golden. Right before he passes by her, she questions, “Don’t you like your human appearance?”

“How would you feel if you looked in a mirror and saw a robot? You knew you were human; you could feel it. But you saw a robot.”

She shrugs, “Alright then. Carry on, demônio.”

The officiates watch as Loba casually steps into their office, and sits in front of the massive desk that separates the room.

“I want to join the Games.”

Keep your friends close, keep your enemies right by your side.


End file.
